Finding Hope and Healing Herbs
by rosemary88
Summary: After discovering that Ron is cheating on her, Hermione leaves him and throws herself into a project to find a cure to save Narcissa Malfoy.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Removing a ring from your finger is not a physically difficult task, but psychologically, Hermione was finding it nearly impossible. It was over and a part of her hated Ron for cheating, but that didn't make it any easier. The ring had been there for five years, an extension of her very being, something she would turn around and around when she was lost in thought or when she encountered a particularly difficult problem at work. It was a reminder that no matter what happened at work and no matter what nonsense the _Prophet_ might publish, she would go home to the cozy haven they had created together and find peace.

But none of that was true anymore. There was no more haven in the storm, no more loving arms to embrace her after a hard day. After she had walked in on Ron with Lavender (again! how could this happen again?), she had only returned home once. Just enough time to put all her belongings in her beaded bag. Just enough time to grab Crookshanks and apparate to Ginny and Harry's flat in London.

Ginny and Harry were trying to maintain their impartiality, though of course none of the Weasleys were particularly gifted at neutrality and Ginny couldn't help a few snide remarks about Ron being a dunderhead. It was comforting, to a certain extent, to know that even his family thought his actions were horrible, but it did nothing to change the fact that her marriage was now over.

Staring out the window of her office overlooking Hogsmeade, Hermione continued to twist her ring as she ran through these thoughts which she had already considered a hundred times before. She had accomplished very little work in the last week, but luckily she had no major projects at the moment. After the war, she had set up shop as a consultant and general problem solver known for combining different magical fields to find new solutions. Usually, the creativity and in-depth research her work required were more than enough to keep her occupied, but today the view from the window was more interesting (and required less intense focus). The town was bustling and the streets were flooded with Hogwarts students visiting the town on one of their trips. They scurried quickly from shop to shop, buying as many sweets as they could fit in their pockets. Like everything else these days, it only reminded Hermione of Ron.

But one figure walked more steadily, more purposefully. It was a tall man striding down the main road. Her eyes rested on him carelessly, listlessly. But as he marched with determination directly towards the apothecary below her office, she snapped back to the present and recognized him. It was none other than Draco Malfoy, her former nemesis and current potions professor at Hogwarts.

After the war, the Ministry had been lenient with any former Death Eaters who had shown remorse towards the end or helped the Order in any way. The hope was that focusing on rebuilding rather than revenge would be more beneficial for the wizarding world, now even smaller in the wake of the terrible war that had claimed so many lives. It was a controversial tactic, but one Hermione (with the support of Harry) had publicly helped by launching programs where pure bloods volunteered to help right some of the wrongs that had been committed. Though Malfoy had mostly kept a low profile, she had run in to him a few times at these events and they had managed to be civil in their brief encounters.

 _I suppose its normal for a potions professor to go to the apothecary_ , mused Hermione. But some intuition nagged at the back of her mind telling her that he was not there to buy ingredients.

Sure enough, moments after the bell on the downstairs door rang out, Hermione heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and her door swung open. Framed in the doorway, the hallway light behind him making his blond hair seem like an ethereal halo, Draco Malfoy looked strangely like a knight from a muggle fairytale. As he stepped into the room, however, the illusion was shattered. She could see the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his cheeks, and the quiet desperation in his expression.

"Granger, I know I'm the last person on earth you want to see and that I have no right to ask for or expect anything from you, but I need your help."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Despite his evident exhaustion, Draco Malfoy still managed to look poised and even elegant as he took a seat in the armchair in front of Hermione's desk. After his first surprising remark came a silence that grew until Hermione wondered if he expected her to say something. But what? That she was willing to help? She didn't even know what he wanted and she didn't feel like she could manage her own life at the moment, let alone help someone else with theirs. Before she had come up with something to say, he continued.

"I wouldn't have come except Longbottom told me… Longbottom encouraged me to ask for your help."

Neville? Why would Neville dump more on her plate when he knew how much of a train wreck her life was at the moment? Hermione once again felt a wave of the resentment that had become so common in her life in the last week. Even as she felt frustrated with Neville for giving her more work when she hadn't even found a permanent place to stay, she also couldn't help but feel her resentment was unreasonable. Neville was a good friend who was doing his best to support her right now and he would never intentionally cause her more problems. He must have had his reasons. And as a fellow professor at Hogwarts, he must have felt enough kinship with Malfoy to think that he deserved whatever help he was asking for. With a small sigh, Hermione came back to the present.

"What exactly is the issue?" she asked calmly.

"It's a dark curse. I've been trying to make a potion to counter it, but it isn't enough. Even with Longbottom's help finding the most potent plants, I haven't had any success and now I'm afraid I'm running out of time," Malfoy explained. Though his voice was level, Hermione thought she detected a slight tremble of emotion.

"You're going to have to be more specific than that, I'm afraid," she replied. "What curse is it? How was it cast?"

"That's the problem… I don't really know." One of Draco's fingers drummed rhythmically on the armrest as he spoke. If he were another, less self-controlled man, Hermione might almost have expected him to run a hand through his hair. "I didn't see the curse cast. There was a stabbing and the knife used seemed to have been both dipped into a poisonous potion and cursed. I think I may have figured out the potion that was used and I've been working on a counter-potion. But the curse that was cast is beyond my skills."

Draco paused and Hermione examined him intently.

"'There was a stabbing.'"

"Pardon?"

"You said, 'There was a stabbing.' Not, 'Person A was stabbed' or 'Person B stabbed Person A.' You didn't even provide any context. During a battle? A robbery?" Hermione clarified.

"Does it matter?" There was a sharpness to his voice. Anger? Fear? Pain?

"If you want my help, it would certainly be best to give me as much information as possible," Hermione replied, trying to rein in her frustration. "Anything could be relevant. The perpetrator may have a specific method they prefer or may have tailored their method to fit their victim. If it happened in the Final Battle, the identity of the victim might be less important than the perpetrator's desire to inflict maximum harm. If it was a robbery, maybe their goal was to only temporarily incapacitate the victim in order to get the most loot." Hermione noticed him wince almost imperceptibly when she mentioned the war.

"It was a personal attack."

Another pause. But Hermione could be patient, especially since her frustration made her feel like he needed to be doing more to help her help him.

"It was a personal attack on my mother." Draco looked away as he said the last few words. In the early afternoon light streaming through the window, Hermione could clearly see the worry lines etched across his forehead.

Casting back her mind, she tried to remember if she had heard of an attack on Narcissa Malfoy. There had been a number of attacks on people on both sides of the war in the first years after the Final Battle, but that had all died down, or so she thought. Maybe it was in the last week, in which case she might not have heard because she had been so preoccupied. And because she had been avoiding the _Prophet_ since she knew that somehow the newspaper would make the dissolution of marriage out to be the end of the Golden Trio (and ultimately all her fault). She abandoned her internal guessing game.

"This happened in the last week?"

"No." Draco looked back at her for a moment, his voice softer now and his gaze more focused on her. "Not this past week. Four years ago."

"You've been working on this alone for four years?" As soon as she said it, she knew it had been the wrong thing to say and her incredulous tone made it even worse. He had just told her that his mother had been attacked and her response made it sound like he was an idiot for not asking for help sooner. And his earlier words echoed in her mind: _I'm running out of time._ Did that mean Narcissa was dying?

"I'm—I'm sorry. That came out wrong. I'm very sorry for what happened to your mother. We were never friends, but I know about the risks she took towards the end of the war to help the Order." Hermione took a breath and continued, "How would you like me to help? Usually my clients are large organizations like Saint Mungo's or the Ministry. I don't typically work with individuals."

Any emotion or uncertainty that might have been present in Draco before vanished. He seemed more sure of himself now.

"Longbottom suggested coming to you because of your work combining different disciplines of magic. He didn't tell me exactly what you've been doing, but I gather your firm often pushes the boundaries of known spellwork and potions and since this curse appears to be a homemade combination of magic, he thought of you. I would, of course, share my progress on the potion with you and you could take any credit you like for your work. Furthermore, I would compensate you fairly for your time and effort. But you need to be 100% focused on finding the cure."

Hermione gave a small, incredulous laugh. "Malfoy, in case you haven't heard, my life is not exactly going well at the moment. I have no place to live, all my belongings are shoved in one tiny bag, and all of my friends are torn between being supportive of me and appearing to take sides. On top of that, a horde of reporters is waiting to descend on me anytime I leave Harry's apartment in an attempt to get an exclusive interview or a photo of me doing something stupid. I don't think I can promise 100% focus on anything right now."

Malfoy once again examined her closely before saying slowly, "Yes, I heard."

Hermione looked away, tears welling in her eyes unexpectedly after her little speech. His mother was possibly dying and here she was complaining about reporters.

"If I could offer a solution to some of these problems, would that help?"

"A solution? Can you brew a potion to turn back time?" She asked wryly.

"Not a potion, but a refuge," he replied. "Would it help if you had a quiet place to stay where no reporter would find you and where you didn't have to deal with your… friends… on a daily basis?"

Hermione's mind began to race and her heart skipped a beat. Surely he wasn't suggesting… didn't he remember what had happened to her there? As if he read her mind, he quickly added:

"Not the manor house, don't worry. But there is a cottage in the gardens, out of sight of the manor. I have been staying there for a few years now, but since I'm at Hogwarts during the school year, it is empty now."

A cottage in a garden. Even if it was the garden of that horrible place, it still sounded appealing. A place to be away from the world, away from reporters, away from any reminder of Ron. But her practical side immediately went into action finding potential obstacles.

"I can't just abandon the rest of my work for a single case, even if it is important. I have a business to run, after all."

"I could cover the cost of an assistant to keep things going here in your absence, if you deem it necessary," he jumped in. _He must be truly desperate—and he must really love his mother_ , Hermione thought.

"And the cottage would need to be connected to the Floo network so I can come into work without using the public apparition point in Hogsmeade."

"It is already connected," returned Malfoy. "Though you could also use my private laboratory in the cottage if you wished."

A private laboratory! The prospect of staying there improved at every turn. Her usual, cautious self wanted to think about it, consider the pros and cons. Her instinct, however, told her to leap at this opportunity. She could spend her days researching in peace in a cottage where no one would ever think to look for her. And wasn't that all she had ever longed for?

"When do you want me to start?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"I just don't get it. Don't you like staying with us?" Harry asked, his tone verging on accusatorial.

"You know I love you, but living in your spare room isn't exactly ideal," Hermione answered, hoping he didn't notice that she didn't really answer the question.

"But it's MALFOY," added Ginny. "Aren't you afraid this is all some elaborate, Slytherin scheme?" Before Hermione could answer, Harry jumped in.

"The part about his mum being attacked is true, at least."

Ginny looked incredulously at her husband. "Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly. "I promised Draco that I wouldn't say anything. I was the auror who responded to the report of an attack. At the time, it was just about a year after the war had ended. Draco had been making a real effort to do the right thing, getting involved in those programs Hermione started. He told me he wanted to keep his family's name out of the papers, and since everything was being handled, I agreed to keep it quiet."

"And you didn't tell ME!?" Ginny looked irate and Hermione had a feeling an argument was about to subvert the course of the conversation.

"I've made my decision," she intervened. "I think it's a worthy cause and it just so happens to come with a place to live." Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance.

"But the manor…" Harry said quietly.

"Not the manor, a cottage on the grounds," Hermione said reassuringly. "You can come visit me any time. We'll set it all up once I'm settled in."

"And he won't be around at all?" Ginny asked.

"He's a Hogwarts professor—I don't think he'll get much of a chance to run off to the manor and take tea with me," Hermione replied with a slight smile. "Think of it as a chance for me to get a change of scenery far from the public eye."

She appreciated her friends' concern, especially since their points were nothing she hadn't already considered. But she also couldn't tell them that seeing them cuddling on the couch every evening and exchanging playful banter over breakfast was a private torture she couldn't bear much longer. And Ginny's resemblance to Ron—both physically and emotionally—didn't help matters. She also knew that despite their current resistance, they both would be happy to have their flat to themselves again. Then she thought of the final piece of the puzzle that would win them over:

"It was Neville's idea. Do you really think he would ever put me in harm's way?"

It wasn't strictly true, as far as she knew. He had suggested that Malfoy contact her, but not that she move into his family cottage. But the Potters didn't need to know that.

"I suppose that's a good point…" Ginny trailed off, looking again at her husband. The two seemed to have a secret language.

"Alright, go for it," Harry sighed. "But just know that you can come back here at any time and for any reason." Hermione smiled at them. A genuine smile, something that felt a bit foreign. That thought made the smile fade slightly. Brushing it off, she grabbed her beaded bag and gave her friends each a hug.

"Good, because I told him I'd move in today. He's probably already waiting for me."

"Where? Do you want me to go with you?" Harry asked.

"At Tomes and Scrolls, the bookshop in Hogsmeade just down the road from the apothecary. I'll be alright on my own. I'm just going to walk there from my office."

"Very convenient," Ginny said with a smile. "Don't go too overboard with your magical expanding bag in a bookshop."

"Good luck," added Harry.

* * *

The evening was just starting to fall by the time Hermione closed the door to her office and began to make her way down the street. The Hogwarts students had all been shepherded back to the castle and the only people left were locals and a few shoppers peering into windows. Hermione loved Hogsmeade at this time of the day. It was a quiet place (with the exception of the Three Broomsticks) and the residents had mostly grown used to seeing her around, so heads no longer turned at her passing. But even the familiar, quiet streets were not enough to settle her nerves today. She felt a curious mixture of on edge and distracted, both nervous of her surroundings and distracted by her thoughts.

As she pushed open the door of the of Tomes and Scrolls, the scent of books washed over her and she took a deep breath. Penelope Clearwater glanced up from the book she had perched against the register and gave a friendly wave. Penny, who had bought the bookstore a couple years previously, was accustomed to seeing Hermione come in after she closed up for the night. The two had even struck up a friendship based on their mutual love of rare, old books, both muggle and magical.

"Let me know if you need anything!" Penelope called before returning her attention to her book.

Hermione nodded, more to herself than to Penelope. Since she didn't see Malfoy anywhere among the stacks and shelves, she began to browse. _A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions, The Dark Arts Outsmarted, Magick Most Evile._ Any of those could be useful, but she already owned them. And she would need a better idea of what the curse was before she would be able to pick out anything more specific, but it was always nice to check that she hadn't missed the publication of a new reference book. She wandered over to the novels, running a finger absentmindedly along the spines she had already examined hundreds of times before.

"Romance, Granger? I would have pegged you for comprehensive magical history books, not bodice rippers," came Malfoy's voice behind her. It was teasing, but she noticed it lacked any bite.

"I'd hardly call a Jane Austen novel a bodice ripper. It's more witty social commentary than anything," she replied as she turned to face him. "And I'm surprised you know any muggle literature at all."

"Don't get too excited, I couldn't tell you the name of a single muggle work published after 1900, but a few of the classics may have found their way into my pre-Hogwarts curriculum unbeknownst to my parents." Draco was now also looking at the books. Hermione couldn't help noticing his body language relax as he scanned the titles.

"You enjoy reading?" She asked trying to sound neutral and not like she thought someone like him would never crack upon a book outside of school.

"When I get the chance. Mostly I read potions journals and that sort of thing," he explained. Hermione couldn't help but think that this was most normal conversation she had ever had with him. It was a definite improvement on the insults thrown around during their Hogwarts years. _I wonder who taught him about muggle literature,_ she thought.

The sound of the shop door opening again drew him back to the present. "We should get going. I'm sure you want to get a chance to see the place before it gets dark." Since Hermione nodded, they both made their way to the front of the store. Penny was still sitting on her stool behind the counter.

"Heading out already? Have a good night, you two!" If Penelope was at all surprised to see them together, she didn't let on. Hermione was grateful for it. She had developed an appreciation for non-inquisitive people since the war had thrown her into the spotlight.

"Take care, Penny," she said turning towards the shopkeeper just as Malfoy reached around her to grab the door handle. At that very moment, a blinding flash went off. It only took a second for her previous sense of foreboding to morph into panic. A reporter. Without even turning to see who it was or where they were, Hermione grasped Malfoy's hand and ran out the door, casting a bedazzling hex so they wouldn't be seen. Even all these years after the war, the instinctual reaction to being ambushed had not faded, even if it was now in response to reporters out to get photos, not death eaters out to kill her. Running down the near-deserted streets of Hogsmeade clutching her wand in one hand and Malfoy's hand in the other, she had sudden flash of running through the trees holding Ron's hand, dodging unforgiveable curses and avoiding tree roots and rocks. She shook herself. Spotting an alley just ahead, Hermione pulled Malfoy into it and apparated.

"Bloody hell!" panted Malfoy. Hermione released his hand and leaned against a tree, slowly sliding down until she was sitting.

"Yeah…" she agreed, gasping in air, her mind racing mile a minute trying to figure out how she had managed to let her guard down enough to be taken by surprise by a reporter. "I guess even Hogsmeade is no longer safe from the press."

"No, bloody hell, Granger. You would apparate when you're in a panic and running? Don't you know how dangerous that is? Especially when it's side-along! That's exactly how people get splinched. Where the hell are we?"

Hermione stared at her shoes for a moment. Sensible flats, but still not intended for running. _This is why I don't wear heels_ , she thought distractedly for a moment. Then she looked back up. Malfoy had propped himself up against a tree with one hand, the other hand on his head. The run hadn't been far, but they had both sprinted as fast as they could. And clearly he had caught some of her panic since his eyes were dilated and his chest was heaving.

"It was instinct. I just did what I've done before: run and apparate. I didn't even think how it would seem to you." She felt bad. He probably didn't care that much about being photographed. In fact, the Malfoy she knew in school would have reveled in the attention. And even now, in the post-war age, it could only look good for him to be seen with a member of the Golden Trio.

"Where the hell are we, Granger?" he repeated. Hermione looked around almost absentmindedly.

"The Forest of Dean."

Malfoy sighed and took a few steps away, turning to face the trees. Hermione could no longer see his expression and was suddenly glad of it. The realization that she had basically kidnapped him had set in and even though it was clear that that had not been her intention, it was still embarrassing to admit that her wartime instincts of fleeing for survival were still strong to the point of running from situations that were not life-threatening in the slightest.

"Let's just get going," he said after a few moments. Even though he had now turned back, she couldn't look at him. She could only imagine what he must be feeling. Regret at coming to her for help when she clearly had issues, maybe. Exasperation with her behavior, certainly. He calmly grabbed both of her hands, took a deep breath, and apparated to the cottage.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

In the golden evening light, the Malfoy cottage looked otherworldly. Soft pink and white hollyhocks sprang up in wild clusters along the pathway leading to the door and English ivy climbed lazily and aimlessly up the trellised walls. Further along she spotted some mint and rosemary in pots and many more plants she couldn't name planted in what seemed to be carefully controlled chaos. There was even a bench sheltered under what appeared to be a small pear tree. _This is not what I would expect from any place Malfoy would live_ , Hermione thought. It was too sweet and welcoming to fit with the cold and aloof Malfoy she knew so well (or perhaps, not so well). And it was so different from the manor… As if sensing her thoughts, Malfoy began:

"I am not responsible for the garden. Well, not for most of it. My mother designed it years ago and I have just added a few herbs and flowers that are easy to grow and useful for potions. Feel free to use any of the plants you may want for brewing." In response, Hermione simply nodded. The day seemed destined to be full of surprises.

The interior was just as cozy and warm as the front garden. There were many windows overlooking the front and back gardens and bookshelves (mostly full of potions books, Hermione noted) lined one of the walls.

"The spare bedroom where you will be staying is just down the hallway there," Malfoy gestured, "and the kitchen and dining room are just here. There really isn't much to show since it is so small. But if you need anything at any point, you can call Posey. She's one of the manor house elves, but she also helps out here." Hermione made a face at the mention of house elves. _Some things, at least, haven't changed,_ she mused.

"It's fairly late and I have Hogwarts duties to get back to tonight," he continued. "But tomorrow morning I will be able to come back and explain the particulars of the… case. In the meantime, please feel free to settle in." He looked around for a second before adding. "Don't you have a kneazle or something?"

"She's a half-kneazle, and yes," Hermione answered, somewhat taken aback that he ad not only remembered, but bothered to ask. "But I left Crookshanks with Harry and Ginny for the night because I wasn't sure what the accommodations would be." Malfoy nodded in understanding without saying anything.

"Will I…" Hermione started, but suddenly couldn't think of a delicate way to say what she wanted. "I mean, is your mother well enough that I will meet her tomorrow morning, too?" Malfoy's back was turned, but Hermione could have sworn she could see the tension in his frame.

"Not tomorrow morning. It will simply be us discussing the specifics you will need for your research. You may see her later in the day if you so desire and if she is feeling up to it. I rather suspect she will invite you to the manor for tea, but you may refuse if you wish. You are not required to be her companion or even to see her if it will not help your work." There was silence for a moment before he added, "I know you do not have… positive memories of my mother or the manor, and I appreciate what you are doing. I suspect your Gryffindor sense of honor requires you to save anyone who needs it, but you are not obligated to be friendly with her. Or me."

Hermione didn't—couldn't—answer. For one thing, her motivations were not entirely the selfless, Gryffindor, savoir-complex-motivated ones he seemed to imagine they were. A wave of guilt came over her when she thought of how she seemed to have deceived him unknowingly. But he was the one who had offered the cottage and seemed to understand how much she needed it—but that was very Slytherin wasn't it. He had found her weakness and appealed to it, but somehow he still thought that she was the innocent Gryffindor with no thought of anything but rushing after Harry and Ron to save them from whatever dangerous nonsense they had gotten into. She unconsciously rubbed one foot against the arch of the other.

"I don't mind… I think it would be nice to have tea with your mother. And it would certainly help me understand her condition better," she finally responded. Then she hastened to add: "but not at the manor."

"Feel free to invite her here, then," Malfoy said, with a tone that Hermione couldn't quite pin down. "I will see you tomorrow," he added, heading towards the door.

* * *

Hermione slept surprisingly well, given that she was in an unfamiliar place. She made a quick trip back to Harry and Ginny's flat to grab Crookshanks before either of them left for work, timing it so that their morning rush prevented them from interrogating her about either Malfoy or the cottage. Crookshanks was wandering around sniffing her new, temporary home with suspicion when Malfoy knocked at the door, a pile of books under one arm and a bundle of scrolls under the other. Malfoy was clearly impatient to get started (though whether it was because he was eager to work or eager to get it done with to leave, Hermione couldn't be sure).

"Where do you want me to start? With the potion? The curse?" he asked, arranging the scrolls in front of him. Hermione wanted to ask for the context first—the story of how Narcissa Malfoy had been stabbed with a cursed blade—but given his reticence to broach the subject the day before, she suspected he did not want to talk about a subject which must be very painful for him. Better to focus on the cold, hard facts.

"Why don't you start with the potion since you say you understand it better," Hermione suggested.

"Alright, then. It appears the blade was immersed into a potion designed to prevent a wound from healing. It is, of course, dark magic, which means that it has been hard to get my hands on many books that describe similar potions," Malfoy explained. For a second, Hermione imagined him asking a librarian for books on dark magic potions… No, that would not be easy at all, especially given his very public family history.

"It could be an old potion that I just haven't found," he continued, "or it could be something the owner of the blade invented themselves. I've been working to reverse engineer it and settled on these ingredients." He slid a list across the table to her. In beautiful, curving handwriting, he had written out a list of fifteen or so ingredients. _Valerian root, crushed foxglove petals, dragon's blood, ground flobberworms, dried nettles…_

"This seems like a lot of ingredients, even for a potion intended to cause great harm," she said slowly. "Most modern potion masters prefer simplicity and strength, aiming for fewer ingredients that pack more of a punch, so to speak. If this list of ingredients you've settled on is correct, I would suspect that this is a very old formula."

Malfoy's lip curled up slightly into a sneer that made him look like the entitled bully he had been at Hogwarts. But it disappeared in a moment, replaced by a careful mask of calm.

"I know. And I am fairly confident in my choice of ingredients," he said stiffly. "And while you may review them if you like, I assure you that I am a true master of my science." _He sounds less like a spoiled brat and more like the stereotypical repressed, overly proud Slytherin_ , Hermione mused.

"I don't mean to cast doubt on your abilities," she added. "Recreating potions with no notion of what the original brewer did is very difficult and I respect what you have done so far. That being said, I would prefer to go over every aspect of this curse since individual ingredients may have reacted in particular ways with the spell that was cast." Malfoy did not reply directly, but reached for another parchment.

"I started work on a counter potion two years ago. You will find the list of ingredients for that potion here," he slid another list to her, which she glanced at briefly before looking towards the large stacks of books.

"And what are these?" she gestured to the pile.

"Some references I found useful. Should you need other books, I can arrange for you to visit the Hogwarts library," he replied. "As for the spell that was cast, I know only that it induces pain and causes deterioration over time. Despite extensive reading, I have not been able to find anything like it, but of course, this is not my specialization."

Hermione nodded at this, her mind already running through a mental list of possibilities for incantations and wand movements. Sensing that she was ready to dive in, Malfoy stood up from the table.

"I will let you review my notes and start your own research and testing. You may owl me if you have any questions, otherwise I will be back at the Manor next weekend to visit my mother and we may speak then." He strode to the door without further preamble and Hermione saw him through the window making his way down the garden path and then on towards the Manor house.

With great relief and a slight smile, she settled down to start the long and difficult task ahead of her. Whatever else may be going on the world, she was confident in her ability to tackle any problem through extensive research.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Hermione's work had soon spilled over the edges of the table and she settled into a comfortable position on the floor with books and papers in neat stacks forming a crescent around her. After several hours of work, however, she found her mind wandering. The sun shone through the windows and she could hear birds calling to one another just outside her door. _What would Harry and Ron think if they knew I was getting distracted from reading?_ she thought wryly before the painful memories came back a second later.

 _Ron would be delighted to have proof that I'm not perfect._ A bitterness overtook her and she covered her face with her hands reflexively. But there were no prying eyes here that would spot her tears. Though there had not been many prying eyes at the Hogwarts library her first year either, when she would often hide among the bookshelves, reading to distract herself and crying when she couldn't stop herself from thinking of the loneliness she had thought would disappear now that she was surrounded by magical people like her. Still, it would do no good to cry right now.

"I've come a long way, though," Hermione said out loud to Crookshanks who sat curled up on a nearby armchair. "I have friends who love and support me." Somehow, this statement, though firmly said, did not cheer her up as much as she had hoped.

After taking a quick lunch break to clear her mind, Hermione refocused on Malfoy's notes about what the charm might be. These notes were less detailed than the ones on the potion, but nevertheless revealed the writer's understanding of higher level charms work. In addition to listing curses with similar effects, Malfoy had started to break them down into individual components in an attempt to identify which elements corresponded to specific results.

Eventually, Hermione found herself staring blankly at a painting of some unknown witch and wizard on the opposite wall as she considered what types of books she might need to read to continue the line of research Malfoy had started. A knock at the door startled Hermione out of her reverie. Surely Malfoy hadn't come back already? But then a familiar voice called out, "Sorry to show up without any warning, 'Mione but I figured you wouldn't mind!"

"Neville!" Hermione cried in surprise as she ran to the door and flung it open. "It's so nice to see you!"

"Right back at ya, Hermione," he said with a smile. "Draco said you were staying here alone and I thought you might want some company. Plus, I wanted to make sure I didn't get roped into doing rounds again—somehow I always end up agreeing to take on another professor's assigned times." Hermione laughed.

"Oh, Neville. It's because you're too nice—everyone knows you'll help them out! Maybe you should have been a Hufflepuff!" Neville rolled his eyes and made a face at her before giving her a big bear hug. He had grown up quite a bit since Hogwarts and was now imposingly tall and rather good looking, but he had never lost the warm personality and friendliness that she had loved about him in school.

As Hermione waved her wand to put on the kettle and to put her work away so that they would be able to sit down, Neville's curious gaze roamed over the inside of the cottage.

"Not exactly the décor I would have thought Draco preferred, but it's nice," he commented. "And that garden! It's incredible how many plants there are growing in that tiny space. It's every herbology professor's dream."

Hermione smiled again. Neville was always so reassuringly himself and now more than ever she felt like she needed a friend like him. As she grabbed the two cups of tea and handed one to him, she noticed he was watching her carefully.

"I hope you don't mind that I suggested Draco contact you," he said tentatively.

Hermione didn't answer immediately. What could she say? What did she want to say? That his idea had probably saved her from many miserable weeks of hunting for a small studio in London that she couldn't afford and which would only reinforce to her that she was single and alone?

"No, I don't mind, Neville."

"I didn't want you to feel overwhelmed with a difficult job…" he trailed off.

"Not at all! The distraction is good."

The conversation was slowing down as they danced around the subject on the top of both of their minds. Finally, Hermione cracked.

"I couldn't just sit around all day moping about Ron. As it is, even with all of the work I know I have to do—work that I want to do—" she hastened to add, "I'm still thinking about him all the time."

Neville nodded in understanding, but didn't say anything.

"It's just… I don't even know how I feel any more! I can't tell if I'm angry at him for doing this to me or at myself for ignoring all of those red flags, for excusing behaviors I never should have put up with. How could I have been so idiotic?"

She couldn't help it. The tears that she had held in earlier came streaming out. Neville moved from the armchair to sit beside her on the couch. Grabbing, her hand, he said firmly:

"You should never hate the part of yourself that wants to see the best in people. If you let him turn you into someone who is always suspicious, always doubtful of other people, then you lose one of the best parts of who you are."

Hermione gave him a half smile through the tears and through the layers of hair that now covered her face, then pulled him in for a hug. Taking a few seconds to compose herself, she continued.

"It feels like I should be doing something about it. I can imagine what other people would do—and have done—in similar situations. Ginny would break things and throw bat boogey curses at anyone who crossed her; Luna would talk about some crazy imaginary creature and then move on with her life. But I just feel paralyzed. I can't even take off his stupid ring."

She held out her left hand as proof. The delicate silver band on her third finger caught in the light and Neville once again grasped her hand in his.

"Stop thinking like that. There's nothing you _should_ be doing other than taking care of yourself."

"Ugh, you're so good at this. Do all of the 'comforting students' duties get foisted on you, too?" Hermione asked with a watery laugh. Neville smiled and hugged her again before returning to his armchair.

"I know you're teasing me, but you're not that far off. I'm head of Gryffindor now, and you'd be surprised how many first years need comforting. I don't remember any of us being that homesick, but maybe that's just perspective."

"That's an interesting thought," Hermione replied, glad the conversation had shifted to safer topics. "I don't remember any of us going to McGonagall for anything related to feelings either. Maybe you're just more approachable."

"That's a possibility," Neville conceded. "But it could also be our circumstances. I think most of our year was happier at Hogwarts than at home—Harry hated the Dursleys, I was happy to have some distance from my grandmother…" he trailed off.

"And I was happy to feel like I finally belonged somewhere—at least after the troll incident," Hermione picked up where he left off.

Neither mentioned Ron, but his name hung heavy in the air.

"Has he tried to contact you?" Neville asked quietly, "You know, since…"

"No. After the initial yelling when I found them… well, we haven't talked. I don't know what would be worse: if he apologized and asked me to come back or if he told me he didn't love me anymore and he wanted to be with Lavender."

"How do you mean?"

"If he apologized, it would make it seem like the breakup was my fault for not trying harder to fix our marriage. But if he told me he didn't love me, it would just be more confirmation that I wasted years of my life on someone who—" her voice cracked and she had to take a steadying breath "—someone who never loved me the way I thought he did."

"Hermione," Neville's voice sounded a bit choked up, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to look up from her tea to observe his face. "Hermione, people will say whatever they want to say, but that doesn't mean that any of this is your fault. Shut out the noise of people passing judgments on situations they don't understand and just remember that your friends know how good and kind and hardworking you are."

She smiled up at him and after taking a minute to regain their composure the two were able to return to the more mundane subject of what all the plants in the garden could be used for. The two friends continued chatting and sipping their tea until Neville glanced at the clock on the mantle.

"It's five o'clock already?" He exclaimed. "I'd better get back to Hogwarts, then. Would you like to come visit me this week? I have an opening in my schedule this Wednesday afternoon—we could have lunch together if that works for you."

"That sounds lovely," Hermione said, hugging him once more.

"Great! Are you set up on the Floo Network? I'd like to avoid having to apparate and walk all the way back up to the castle."

"Yes, please help yourself," Hermione motioned towards the jar of Floo powder.

"Take care of yourself, Hermione," Neville said with a sincerity that struck a chord deep in her heart. Then he stepped into the leaping, colorful flames he had conjured and disappeared.

Hermione stared absently into the flames for a few more minutes. Neville's visit had given her some hope for her future—and opened the possibility of visiting her beloved Hogwarts (and its library) in just a few days.


End file.
